


Statement Piece

by linearoundmythoughts



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Mentorship, Pins, aka Oswald does Martin's hair all disco vampire and then reverts back to his punk days for himself, and manic panic™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:53:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linearoundmythoughts/pseuds/linearoundmythoughts
Summary: Martin gets an Oswald-themed makeover before the charity banquet, and makes a suggestion for Oswald to spruce up his own look as well.





	Statement Piece

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent fluffffffff about how much i love the almost-familial relationships on the show and the generational chainlink they're creating. Thank you for reading this fluff, and thank you to my friends for encouraging me to write and post it <3

Still counting each item he lists off on his fingers, Oswald runs out, stares at his own hands for a moment, before shaking them and starting again, with his right thumb as the first this time. 

“You’re going to need cufflinks, a bowtie, better shoes, some kind of…statement piece, and—” he gestures at Martin with his extended fingers, waving a haphazard circle around the direction of Martin’s head. “ _Something_ has to be done about your hair.”

Martin nods, just once, before shifting his eyes and nodding a few more times, vehemently. 

Lurching across the room, Oswald turns his limp into a glide, as he marches around, rifling through drawers and boxes on the various tables and dressers around. “Buy matching of everything I selected to wear tonight, Mr. Penn,” Oswald orders, plucking bottle after bottle off of the tray in front of the swivel mirror mounted to the table in the right corner. 

“Understood, sir,” and with a nervous bow that Oswald doesn’t see, Mr. Penn exits, looking back at Martin, then Oswald again, as he stumbles out. 

Martin kicks his heels again as he scoops the lidded leather valet box off the chest of drawers he’s seated next to—now he can go back through it with the assistant-man gone and Penguin-man busy. He creaks the box open gingerly, even though it doesn’t make a sound, he doesn’t want Oswald to notice he’s snooping. Not after getting yelled at before. He’s not going to get that Martin is just curious, no matter how he would try to explain himself. 

The little earring-things Oswald calls cufflinks aren’t that interesting but there’s so _many_ of them; Martin pushes past them, lifts under the old, black, folded wrapping paper, the worn-out photo of some blonde lady, another of a guy who looks kind of like Penguin but old, beneath a black envelope that says _Oswald’s_ , and more papers and letters Martin isn’t very interested by. The picture he stops on next is cool enough to check out for a while—it’s at least colorful, and Oswald looks really happy, which is weird…Martin didn’t know he was capable of being happy. 

“ _Now!_ ” Oswald shouts, and Martin reacts quickly enough to shut the box and slid it back in place before Oswald turns around and sees. He’s holding an armful of bottles by now and a fistful of brushes and combs. “It’s time to…make you look _presentable_ for your performance tonight.” 

Martin swallows, and then remembers to nod. It’s a little obvious what Oswald has planned. 

Hopefully he doesn’t comb Martin’s hair hard enough that the tangles hurt when they get snagged in the comb, because that’s the thing Martin hates _most_ about brushing his hair. 

§

“ _There_ ,” Oswald hums, rearranging Martin’s bowtie before he does the same to his own, matching one. Martin smiles and pats the little penguin lapel pin Oswald’s lent him off his own jacket. Oswald was pretty mean earlier, but Martin doesn’t really mind, because Oswald’s pretty cool to hang out with. Martin’s never had friends before, but he likes the idea that you can forgive your friends for not being perfect all the time, so long as they mean well, and as Oswald scoops the sides of Martin’s now-spiked out hair up once more, Martin feels that the Penguin-man at least _tries_. 

They’re dressed exactly the same, and Martin wonders, looking at their reflection, in their matching tuxedos, if maybe that’s what having a _dad_ is supposed to be like. 

“Do you like your improved look?” Oswald asks—he’s being haughty and the answer he wants is obviously _yes_ , but Martin nods with an authentic smile. He really _does_ like it. 

Still, he grabs his pad from around his neck (he refused to be parted from it for long—he always refuses to be parted from it for long, it’s the only way he gets to speak, even if it’s cumbersome) and jots a note. 

Oswald reads over his shoulder. “You didn’t change anything, though,” he recites, then looks at Martin. “Why would I change anything?” he asks, managing to shake his head with practically every word. 

_Because_ , Martin adds. Oswald raises an eyebrow. _It’s fun_ , he adds under _because_. 

“I’m fine as I am, thank you,” Oswald replies, rolling his eyes. Martin frowns. Oswald is too grumpy about stupid things all the time. Waving his arms, Oswald bends down to Martin’s height, hands on his knees, and gets up in his face. “I’m sorry, do you have a _suggestion_ or something?” 

Rubbing his fingers down the edge of his board, Martin pouts and considers sharing. He _does_ have an idea. Bounding down off the raised platform and sprinting over to where he sat before, Martin reaches for the box, digs the picture he liked out, and dashes over with it in hand, to show what he means. 

Oswald chews on air for a few exasperated turns of face, caught between wanting to chastise Martin for the breach of privacy, and for what seems like _sorrow_ brought back to the surface. That makes Martin feel bad—he knows how that is. Not everything you remember about the past is sometimes a good feeling. 

_Her hair is cool_ , he writes on a new sheet, gripping the picture carefully in two fingers, so he doesn’t wreck it while he supports his board and writes with his other hand. 

“Her name is— _was_ —Fish. She was— _is_ —something like what I’m…what I’m trying to be for you.” Oswald frowns, then smiles, just a little bit, and takes the picture of himself and the lady named Fish. 

_You have the same hair_ , Martin writes, then takes his board back and shoehorns the word _almost_ in after the _you_. 

“Yes, we both have black hair, it’s not uncommon. Hers always had those streaks in it, unlike mine—oh no. You’re not suggesting—” 

Martin nods, eyes wide. He wishes he could do it to his own hair, but he doubts that’s okay with the orphanage dress code. 

Oswald snickers, smiling wide, just like in the picture. “I _used_ to have my hair like that, long before I met her,” he explains, and Martin’s eyes go wider. Oswald scoffs. “She had hers professionally done. I used to do mine in the bathroom sink.” 

Martin’s eyebrows fly up. 

“Fine. I accept the challenge!” Oswald flashes a mischievous smile and pulls out his cell phone. “We still have a few hours. I’ll call Mr. Penn and tell him to pick me up some bleach, and a specific shade I’m sure they still make…” 

§

“Well, we no longer match as _much_ as before,” Oswald remarks, and Martin grins when he sees how far back the purple goes in his hair. “But…it is important, when presenting your image to the public, to make sure you’re making a _statement_.” He clutches his lapel and beams as himself, turning his own head slowly, watching the color and light switch between black and purple. 

_A statement_ , Martin thinks, grabbing his own lapel the same way, the penguin pin pushed into his palm, reassuring and significant.

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to this amazing gifset and gif-maker's work [ which inspired me instantly to write this!!](http://veromejaleska.tumblr.com/post/167576236426)


End file.
